Fork in the Road

It’s been too long since I had a chance to just stop and think. To let the world slide idly by and not try, for just once, to catch up. It’s a good feeling.

Most of my recent posts have had a sense of urgency to them, at least in my mind’s eye. It seems the world we live in refuses to let us simply be. Cautious worries of dangers unique to this time- terrorism- combined with the inarguable fact that we are becoming immersed (and isolated) by technology do nothing to impede this process.

Of course there are personal events as well that impose themselves upon such a sense of harmony. I have work, Law Review, and an upcoming move (more about that later) to prepare for that take time and energy to effectively manage. Most of these, albeit, are self-imposed crosses that I bear, but still the weight is sometimes great.

It is important to remember the value of rest. Even Christ fell under the weight of his cross at Golgotha, just as God rested after six days. This is an important point- God chose to rest. I think that if we could know why an omnipotent and omniscient being chose to just be for a while, we would be close to understanding the order of this world.

The world is not interested in knowing the answer to that question. Humans are woefully incessant creatures who push themselves farther and farther- and yet to what end? Why must these things be done? Why must we rush about? No one asks anymore, they just simply do. The sinking sun is just another signal to switch on a light and continue the day’s work. And, worst of all, we believe the old lie that if we work hard enough, one day the work will stop- things will be done and we’ll be able to do that which we truly want to do. In truth, that day usually comes long after we’ve left this earth.

Nature, however, understands the solemn song of rest. The seasons fall in a cycle; the blazing growth of summer takes place for less than half a year before falling into the gracious decay of autumn and the peaceful dearth of winter. Volcanoes heave and thrust with amazing power for moments in time, yet sit idle for much of their existence. Even the smallest flower will open with the sun and close when it sets, as if on a cosmic cue we have taught ourselves to ignore.

I worry at times that I’ve run out of things to blog about; in truth I just haven’t been looking. When I began this blog, my eyes were different, seeing and discerning things an optometrist couldn’t begin to imagine. Now I worry they are beginning to dull, and the ho-hum existence of life is slowly beginning to take its weary toll.

And yet, all is not lost. For it is the mere recognition of such a state that is its own salvation. We can only pull ourselves out of a chasm when we finally, blindly, strike the darkened walls with our outstretched hands. Whether we see it or not, a light shines above.

Words are weak and actions strong, and time will tell if this clarion call actually forces me to get up and do something about that which I feel so strongly. But there is a change in this lump of flesh typing these things, that much I know for sure.

Just sitting here for a few moments with nothing but this entry on my mind has done wonders. I feel I’m approaching a great Truth, and I hope I am able to embrace it. As I write this, I am 26 years old. That leaves me with roughly 50 years (if I’m lucky) to make the journey. At least now I have the rough outlines of a map in my head to guide me. It is the map of a less-traveled path beneath the airy stars, under the moonlit shade of an oak tree.

I hope one day to find it.